Sometime a pretty boy in Dian's shape
With hair that gilds the water as it glides
Crownets of pearls around his naked arms
And in his sportive hands an olive tree
To hide those parts that men delight to see
Shall bathe him in a spring...
Such things as these best please his majesty.

-- Christopher Marlowe, Edward II

Zoisite bent his head slightly, as the attendant brushed rouge over his cheeks with quick, deft strokes. Another parted and combed out his hair, twisting it up into the tight "odango" of state that comprised the Lunar queen's own hairstyle, while a third carefully powdered an outstretched leg.

"Take it down," a soft voice ordered. "We don't want to be accused of outright slander." Zoisite couldn't see the speaker, as his eyes were closed while they were being made up, but he could feel a hand stroke his head, then appraisingly rub a few strands between its fingers. "He'll be more effective with his hair loose. We want that innocent, virginal look this one projects so well."

The young man heard muffled snickers scattered around the room, mostly likely at the thought of anyone considering Zoisite innocent and virginal for any reason. They were quickly silenced.

"Our lord king will be pleased by this masque. If he is not, I will ensure those who incurred his displeasure will not get a chance to work on the next one. Or indeed, to work at all."

Terrified rustles accompanied the speaker's words, and Zoisite repressed a smirk. He opened his eyes and adjusted himself to better accomodate the costumers who were busy draping some sort of pale, diaphanous mantle around him, one that artfully displayed more than it concealed. He shivered as light fingers caressed his shoulder.

"Cold, young Zoisite? Or nervous at the thought of tonight?"

"No, my lord." How could he be frightened at what could be his most triumphant moment yet? He fought down the chill deep in his stomach, refusing to acknowledge it. Perhaps one of the high ministers--or even the king!--would evince some interest in him. He could go far, no doubt of it. Perhaps...perhaps Kunzite would be in the audience. Certainly he'd be pleased at how far his former student had come already, and maybe Zoisite would put in a good word for him, should he rise higher. It was a thought.

Kunzite-sama.... No, that was all past. They'd gone their separate ways, and while he'd always bear fond memories of his teacher, there was little likelihood of them ever meeting up again for longer than a few passing nods in the hallways at the Terran court. Kunzite had become one of His Majesty's royal guards, and Zoisite was a young page with a reputation for beauty, among other things. The masque would seal his fate.

His impeccably carmine lips smiled sweetly at the nobleman who stood before him. "I am sure tonight's masque will be memorable. If I can lend my own poor part to it, I will be amply rewarded." His eyelashes fluttered coquettishly as he turned his head aside with a modest blush. He flushed again, this time inadvertantly, as soft fingers ran down the side of his cheek.

"Good boy. You will indeed be rewarded as you should be, if you play your part well. Take care, Zoisite."

He automatically repressed a shudder of distaste. This man was high up in the council, and was to be treated with all courtesy. He gazed up at the noble, his emerald eyes shimmering. "You do me too great honor, lord."

"Not at all." The man smiled. "Until tonight, then."

"Tonight," Zoisite whispered. "I will be there." He had a sudden wish for a glass of wine.

Zoisite knelt in the pool of water, waiting for the curtains to be pulled apart. The designers had outdone themselves. The set was surrounded by a grove of artificial trees, which would, at the appropriate moment, pull their limbs back to expose the scantily-clad Zoisite to full view. The pool itself was an artfully designed woodland pond, set about with turf and carefully-molded wax flowers. The other pages, dressed as nymphs, stood or lolled about in their carefully choreographed positions, surreptitiously trading jokes and comments while still unseen by the audience. Zoisite stifled a twinge of envy. True, they weren't getting their knees and legs soaked and cramped by having to sit seiza in damp drapery, but they also weren't getting star billing. He'd made very sure to check all his clothing and props before going on, and hadn't eaten anything for the last six hours. He could never be too careful.

The director signaled them to be ready, and from outside, the soft, sweet tones of lutes and viols drifted in, to be cut off abruptly by the fanfare that signaled the entrance of king and court. His muscles tensed, performer's adrenaline racing through his veins.

The nymphs posed gracefully as the curtain drew apart, then danced a series of slow, interweaving measures while an offstage choir of boy sopranos sang a hymn to the goddess of the woods and lakes. As the music crescendoed, the set began to move, Zoisite clutched his olive-branch fan, and the branches pulled apart. He rose, water-logged drapery clinging to his legs, and began his own dance.

He stood with his back to the audience and slipped out of his robe, which was caught deftly by an attendant. Daintily, apparently unaware of his rapt audience, he half-turned, carefully shielding himself with the olive branches. The other nymphs pretended to bathe him and comb out his hair, getting in tiny pinches and tugs when they thought they could get away with it. Zoisite calmly took no notice, mentally taking names. At the right moment, he "dismissed" them, and they scattered offstage, some, no doubt, awaiting various protectors after the show.

He began to dance, seductively, but still as if in ignorance of any watchers. He fluttered the branches over non-existent breasts and, more consistently, over his groin, occasionally flashing a glimpse just long enough to get his audience's attention. He could feel their intrigue and lust washing over him and smiled demurely. He flicked a coy glance upwards, now catching and holding the eyes of various watchers with a coolly-held gaze. The lord who might become his new patron tonight, yes, he looked pleased, like the cat who'd eaten--or would eat--the canary. His Majesty also had an intrigued expression, as he leaned to one side on his throne, chin rested in his hand, hard stare fixed on Zoisite. He bowed his head in an unobtrusive acknowledgement of the king's favor, then glanced at the guards ranged by the throne.

And came to an abrupt halt, fixed and stunned, when he saw Kunzite.

Of course Kunzite-sama was in the audience, he'd known that. But it was different seeing his former teacher's sudden, unguarded look of shock and dismay, quickly concealed into his usual stoic demeanor. Zoisite had rarely, if ever, seen even that much display of open emotion by Kunzite, and surprised himself by the desolate pang that ripped through his heart. Kunzite-sama had no special reason to remember him among the many boys and young men he had tutored in arms and royal protocol before ascending to the ranks of the guards. They had shared a sexual relationship, unexceptional. Students always acceded to their instructors' mandates, and sex was an accepted part of their role. Kunzite was neither the first nor the last that Zoisite had slept with as a matter of routine.

But Kunzite-sama...he looked so angry. So hurt. Or would have, if he'd allowed any emotion to resurface past those first fleeting seconds. Zoisite broke his gaze, which had been held slightly longer than was diplomatic, and continued with his performance as though completely unaffected. He didn't think anyone had noticed his surprise.

When he dared to look again, Kunzite was gone.

He'd done quite well for himself, Zoisite decided after the performance. The masque in general, and his role in particular, had made an impression on a number of important courtiers. He received several notes, delivered by rival pages with sour expressions, bunches of roses with more notes hidden inside them, and the sponsor of the masque, now quite clearly set as his new patron, had invited him to dinner in two hours. And while the king had not sent any message yet, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that a servant might knock discreetly on the door later that night.

Not a bad recompense for cramped knees and clammy drapery.

He had just decided to head back to his own room for a short nap before the exertions to come later, when he saw Kunzite striding down the hall in his direction, cold eyes blazing. Zoisite stopped out of sheer surprise, then gasped when the tall lord's hand closed around his wrist with a steel grip.

"I hope you're happy with the spectacle you made of yourself," Kunzite said in cold, measured tones.

Zoisite jerked himself free and bowed to his former teacher. "I trust that my behavior was appropriate for the occasion. As you have always taken pains to insure."

The guard seemed to flinch for one small moment, then collected himself. "That may be, but whether you should have placed yourself in a position to act in such a way is another." Again, Kunzite took Zoisite's wrist. "Come with me. You're still covered with paint, and that will do you no credit whatever happens tonight."

The younger male let himself be dragged down the corridor, his shorter legs stretching to keep pace with Kunzite's angry stride. They didn't exchange another word until they got to Kunzite's quarters. As a member of the royal guard, he didn't have to live in the barracks, although his chamber would not be considered especially luxurious by the standards of many courtiers.

Kunzite pressed Zoisite into a chair, then knelt before him with a cloth and a basin of water. He scrubbed harshly at the young man's face, his own expression set and cold. "Someone did a terrible job of removing your makeup. Have they no competent attendants these days?"

"I was going to do it myself--I wanted some quiet time before...." He found himself blushing, and bit his lip in self-reproach.

The other man's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Well, as long as someone was to do it. The thought of a student of mine wandering around bedizened like that...." He shook his head and began cleaning Zoisite's forehead. "And no doubt they gave you body paint as well, to enhance your charms from the stage. That's what they did to me, when I was the age you are now."

Zoisite looked up questioningly, and Kunzite twitched his lips in what might have been a smile. "Yes, though you might not believe it, I too was accounted a beauty once. And they held a masque and I played the part of the Moon Goddess. Much the same script as yours, but they must have changed things a bit. No doubt they didn't wish to be blasted to bits for the sake of a silly play. Her Lunar Majesty has a long arm and many eyes."

Zoisite snorted. "She's not such a beauty as they say she is, then." But I've never found any woman beautiful, he thought. Have you, Kunzite-sama?

The guard ignored the would-be witticism. "My hair was even longer, then," he continued, "and admirably suited for the role. But that was a long time ago, before your day."

"I wish I could have seen you then, Kunzite-sama."

"Why? You are far more beautiful than I ever was." He cleared his throat abruptly and began scrubbing with renewed vigor on Zoisite's face.

He had not expected such candor. It was a fact, no doubt, but that Kunzite would say that, to his own face, no less...that was a shock.

They remained silent for some time, Kunzite concentrating on his task, and Zoisite, somewhat unwillngly, enjoying the contact. No one had taken the time to look after him for years, unless he was destined for someone's bed in the near future. And Kunzite's bed, he remembered, was...not bad.

Very comfortable, in fact. Many weren't.

He felt the cool water trickle down his face as the scrubbing subsided to a gentler touch along his delicate eyelids and lips. He leaned into the almost-caressing strokes, and found himself sighing softly.

"Zoisite."

Mmm....

"Zoisite. Wake up." A light slap, not harsh, on his cheek.

"Are...are you done, Kunzite-sama?"

"You seem marginally more presentable in public, if that's what you mean. In any case, I trust you'll be able to wash the rest off yourself. Unless you're planning a surprise for someone."

Unaccountably, Zoisite felt disappointed. "Of course. You have already been too kind to me, Kunzite-sama."

"You were my best student. I would be remiss if I did not look after your welfare, even if you are no longer directly under my command." His fingers grazed Zoisite's face, then pulled away to dampen the cloth. "And you shouldn't have powder streaks in your hairline. Do these people have no sense today?"

"You were always kind to me, Kunzite-sama," Zoisite murmured, half to himself. He twisted his fingers in his lap, momentarily lost in memories.

"Kind? No. I remember well how harsh I was, when I deemed it necessary."

"That was your kindness to me, Kunzite-sama." He lowered his gaze away from Kunzite's too-burning eyes. "A softer teacher would have spoiled me. And you were never deliberately cruel or mocking when others were. For that, I have always honored you."

"No good warrior or teacher mocks another," Kunzite said. He reached for a dry towel and began carefully mopping Zoisite's face. "If you do not respect even your students or your rivals, what true respect can you have for your superiors or for yourself?"

True respect, Zoisite thought to himself. Kunzite-sama, I don't think even you were able to teach that properly to me. Except in regards to yourself, he added, and then wondered at his thought. If we could have stayed together, even after my allotted time with you...

...well, I wouldn't have gotten as far as I have. Although your patronage, now that you're in the guards, Kunzite-sama.....

He didn't want to think about patrons or court manipulations or using his beauty to get ahead. It was enough to be there, alone with Kunzite-sama, sharing this quiet moment.

"I think that's everything," Kunzite said, breaking into Zoisite's reverie. "Unless you're prepared to take a bath here, there's not much more I can do to clean you up." He turned away abruptly and began to put away the equipment.

"I had planned on taking a nap," Zoisite admitted. "But if I were found asleep in your quarters...."

Kunzite smiled cynically. "It wouldn't do you much good, no. You need to be back in your own rooms, or how will you be seen properly?" His tone was light, but had an edge to it.

"Kunzite-sama..." Zoisite rose and went over by Kunzite, bringing him the basin. He held it out and Kunzite took it, holding it silently in his hands for a moment. Then he set it down. Almost unwillingly, his hand stretched out to caress Zoisite's fine, blond hair, then reluctantly pulled away.

"You were the best of students," Kunzite murmured. "I knew you would go far. I knew it when I first saw you as a child of eleven, the smallest and most frail-looking of the cadets that year. You were frightened but you strove so hard to conceal it. You took no nonsense from anyone." He smiled. "Not even me, at first."

"I had to learn to respect you. But I soon learned you more than merited it. You...only you...." He broke off, biting his lip, trying to hold back the swell of emotions that had been repressed for so long. "Why could we have not stayed together?" he broke out suddenly. "You were so wise and understanding. Was I so spoiled and vain that you could no longer stand the sight of me?"

Kunzite caught Zoisite's face in his hands. "No. No, never. But you had grown beyond my training, obviously in the way to go higher. I had no wish to stand in your way, my... Zoisite."

He reached up and put his arms around the older man's waist. "Kunzite-sama...." he whispered.

Kunzite pushed him away. "Enough, lad. You have a bath and nap to take. There's no need to waste your time here."

Zoisite stared straight at him, green eyes boring into pale blue. "Wouldn't I waste more time running to my quarters? I could take my bath here, with your permission."

His former teacher froze. "I will not stand in the way of your good fortune," he said at last, cautiously.

Zoisite dropped to his knees, bringing the older man's hand to his lips. "Kunzite-sama. My fortune is here."

The two gazed at one another, Kunzite clearly weighing the sincerity of his words. His pale eyebrows drew together. "And tomorrow you will wake up and reproach yourself for your folly." He pulled his hand away abruptly. "You wasted your charm and beauty on a mere palace guard, when with only a pause for thought you could have aimed far higher. How will you be able to live with the consequences?"

"Kunzite-sama. Have you ever truly known me to care about consequences?"

He smiled very faintly, despite himself. "I hoped I had trained you out of your old impetuousness." Kunzite turned away and paced a few slow steps. "The evidence today made me decide that you had finally internalized the art of calculation. Not a single person in the audience today, no matter what sex or station, was able to take his eyes off you. And you knew it." He halted by the wall and rested his forehead against it. Zoisite could barely hear the next words. "And I knew it was not, and never had been, for my own benefit."

"Kunzite-sama!"

"Don't throw yourself away on someone who will only hold you back." The suddenly bitter tone hurt.

The youth bit his lip, feeling tears sting at the back of his eyes. "That's...that's not true, Kunzite-sama." He hesitantly walked over to the older man, his hand reaching out to barely graze his shoulder.

Kunzite turned. "Isn't it?" His expression was cold, but Zoisite now saw the pain hidden behind it.

"Maybe I thought it was true, once," Zoisite admitted, lowering his eyes. "But maybe I was wrong."

He felt Kunzite press his palm to his forehead, checking for fever. "Since when do you admit to anyone, much less me, that you were wrong about anything--assuming that you were wrong in the first place? Think well what you are saying, Zoisite."

Zoisite wrapped his arms around him. "I have. If you don't want me, Kunzite-sama, I'll keep coming back until you do. I'd rather be at your side than with any of the hypocritical, slimy, false-faced noblemen at this court, no matter how highly placed they are!" His eyes blazed with anger. "I'd rather have you than the fat, lazy king on his golden throne!"

"Zoisite, hush!"

He pressed his face into Kunzite's shoulder. "Anyone else would have me flat on my back by now. I don't know why you haven't..."

His words ended in a gasp as Kunzite caught him up in a tight hug. "You aren't with anyone else. You're with me. If you're not, this is your last chance to change your mind, because I won't let you go after this."

"Ah. Kunzite-sama. I'm not changing my mind." Zoisite suddenly nipped the delicate skin at the crease of his lover's throat. "If you ever think I will, I'll die of grief and my ghost will haunt you until the fall of the Lunar Hegemony!"

He felt Kunzite quake with laughter, his deep voice vibrating through their bodies. Strong arms hugged him in return.

"I much prefer you alive and here, Zoisite."

"I missed you, Kunzite-sama. I thought you hated me, so I saw no reason to inflict my presence on you."

Kunzite tightened his embrace in shocked denial and rested his chin on Zoisite's head. They stood together, breathing deeply, hearts pounding in unison.

"Kunzite-sama..."

"Yes?"

"Shall I take that bath now?"

Kunzite effortlessly lifted Zoisite in his arms, carrying him to the bed. "Why waste time?"

Zoisite shut his eyes and buried his face in Kunzite's lovely long hair. Why indeed? They had wasted so much already.

They hit the bed almost simultaneously, kissing fiercely, barely pausing for breath, unwilling to let go for the slightest second.

Their lovemaking was different from before. They had never allowed themselves to be truly tender with each other in the earlier days, but now they caressed and clung to each other, hair sliding along smooth skin, tongues licking, hands gripping as if terrified to let go. Zoisite moaned into Kunzite's mouth as they twined their legs and arms around each other, pressing chest and torso and hips and genitals so tightly that they could barely breathe.

"Kunzite-sama...."

"Zoisite."

All they could say, all they wanted or needed to say, was each other's name. They had been apart for too long, and never known how much they'd treasured their bond until they deliberately broke it.

Zoisite lay back against the pillows, loose hair rumpled and disarrayed, eyes closed. Kunzite's dark voice buzzed in his ear.

"You've ruined my sheets, you know."

"I told you I could have taken a bath here, Kunzite-sama." He opened his eyes and saw Kunzite lean over him, long silver hair spilling onto Zoisite's chest. His breath caught.

"And you've gotten your damned body paint smeared all over me."

And I've missed my appointment, Zoisite thought to himself. My most noble patron has no doubt been banging on my door for at least the last half-hour. I'm doomed now.

He didn't care. He reached up to stroke Kunzite-sama's face, running a fingertip along the chiseled, high cheekbone and down to trace his lips and that sweet dimple that always hid itself until Kunzite chose to give one of his so-rare smiles. "You'll just have to wash it off, Kunzite-sama."

His lover came closer until they could breathe each other's breaths. "I'll need assistance. You can't expect me to get all that off myself," he whispered.

"Oh, I'll assist you, better than anyone else ever will, Kunzite-sama," he replied, just as softly. "But..."

"But?"

"I want to see your hair in odango. I swear I won't tell the Queen."

Kunzite's head fell abruptly on his young lover's chest, as the older man began chuckling helplessly. Zoisite kissed his hair, twisting the silver strands into small buns, and smiled to himself.

I don't know what I'll do now, Kunzite-sama, he thought. But I...you're not getting rid of me so easily.

We're together again now. And nothing, no one, will ever divide us again. Not even our own folly.

And even through the dark time, centuries later, that twisted their minds and memories, set brother against brother, and warped allegiances beyond hope of mending, Kunzite and Zoisite kept that pledge in their hearts.

It was the one vow they never broke.